


Scrutiny of the Scrivener

by InkwellEdit



Series: Institute Green [1]
Category: Institute Green
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:00:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29749503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkwellEdit/pseuds/InkwellEdit
Summary: Pedro "Monty" Montoya is asked for his life story by Mr. Pale. It takes a second for Monty to realize that the record is probably his most important one he will ever have.
Series: Institute Green [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186538





	Scrutiny of the Scrivener

When the house is in order, there is order in the house. At least that’s what the idea is. Was kind of recursive, redundant even. But what was life without the consistent churning of themes and intent.

Choices abound, inaction being one of them. There were no wholly innocent parties when it came to the wrongs of one’s life. That is, if one ascribed to the blame game. But truly, strife can make for interesting stories.

They’re all alone, you see. Each of those specs of consciousness floating on that blue sphere. They can see each other, certainly. Destroy, connect, create with one another, most assuredly. But in the end, when their light flickers and changes to something new, each is completely alone.

The place in which all of those specs end up is very posh. Hardwood, marble, and iron clad. Each is sent through the correct channels in an orderly fashion to record how they viewed their lives.

Seated in slightly uncomfortable leather chairs, they dictate their stories to those that record them. Some would call these recorders angels, but they are yet different types of consciousnesses, they glow a green instead of a yellow.

Dressed sharply was one of these consciousnesses called Mr. Pale. He had, as his name implied, a paleness to him. His suit was a Gainsboro gray, lending nothing to the ashen blonde hair nor the pallor of his skin. Even his eyes looked more beige than hazel.

Across from him, in the slightly squeaking leather chair sat a young and yellow young man. He looked well dressed. Stylish collared blue shirt, paired with bark brown slacks that cut a lovely figure. He had dark hair and eyes, and like all who sat there, looked apprehensive.

Confusedly, he asked, “Where am I? I was just getting ready for bed,” asked the young man.

Mr. Pale almost sneered, but settled with a quick smile, smoothing out the wrinkle in his rather long nose. “Ah, a surprise then,” he said in a bland manner, “No matter. Shall we get started?”

Shuffling some papers on his desk, Mr. Pale pulled a page out and nodded, setting it into his typewriter. 

“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand where I am. Who are you?”

Mr. Pale rummaged in his desk and pulled out a box of cigarettes, Offering one to the man and being rebuffed when he shook his head. He pulled one out for himself and slid it behind his ear, placing the box on the desk next to a clean ashtray.

“You may call me Mr. Pale. Sir, I’m here to take down your life story. Let’s start with the basics. Name and age.”

The man sat up straighter, clearing his throat, “My stage name is Roland Pierce, but the name on my license is Pedro Montoya.”

The clicking of the typewriter was light, Mr. Pale not taking long. “Which would you like to be called by?”

The young man smiled, “I’d like it if you called me Monty. My friends and family do back home.”

Mr. Pale nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t overly fond of getting too friendly with those that sat before him, but he only showed a thoughtfulness as he typed more.

“This is your story. You may state anything you like for the record but I much prefer honesty and candor. I will state that you would prefer that too...Monty.” The name was said with a bit of a low pitch, as if he were trying it out for the first time.

Monty smiled and nodded, “I understand. Where do I begin?”

Mr. Pale stretched his shoulders, “Wherever you think the beginning is.”

Monty nodded and crossed his legs, trying to get a bit more comfortable. “Okay.”

“My childhood was fairly average, school was a little hard for me because of the dyslexia, but I managed to get through to highschool and graduate. Family time was good when it happened, both of my parents-”

Mr. Pale held up a hand to stop him, “I should mention that this is your story. If you are going to mention anyone else, it must be in passing or direct effect on you. No pressuming motives or actions of others without your direct witness… For posterity...Monty.”

His name still sounded foreign in Mr. Pale’s mouth, but Monty nodded in understanding. “Right, okay.”

“My parents were not around much, their absence is why I started to look for attention elsewhere.” Monty raised his eyebrows at Mr. Pale, checking to see if that was alright.

The typist nodded and made a gesture with his hand to say continue. 

“Though reading was hard, I started to go to the library to research acting after getting the stage bug from highschool. My town didn’t have a lot of resources for that kind of thing, but they did have some play scripts.

“The papers said there was a community theater offering auditions. I prepared for all those weeks, pestering all my friends and family to read with me and make sure I got everything right. I was tenacious and felt more confident with each read through.”

Monty laughed, wiping his tears from the memory.

“I bombed the audition so bad. I was so nervous that I tripped over my own feet and fell right off the stage onto the director’s daughter, who was the leading lady.” He was interrupted again by a fit of giggles, “I got up and tried to apologize, but threw up right on her face.”

Mr. Pale sat back, taking the cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it. Try as he might, he enjoyed when someone found humor in their social gaffs, the giggle fit allowed him to take a few clean hits.

The smell of the smoke was sweet, almost too sweet, but just enough to set a calming atmosphere in the room.

Monty rubbed his cheeks from smiling too much and adjusted in his seat again. “Sorry, I haven’t thought about that in ages.”

“Quite alright,” Mr. Pale said, sliding his blazer off to hang on the back of his chair, placing the cigarette on the ashtray. “Please continue.”

“Oh, I thought that was the end of acting for me. Everywhere I went I heard giggles and heard people fake retching. Couldn’t get a date or a job because I was too embarrassed to even show my face.

“The director’s daughter came to my house and told me that it was okay, but acting was probably not for me. Made me sad and I decided to look into something else as a career.” Monty smiled knowingly.

“It was hard to get into the programs I wanted in college. Didn’t really have money, but ambition managed to get me out of there with a few broken hearted times and a masters in criminal justice. It was around graduation that I had met the girl who I would eventually marry. We had gone on a few dates, but opportunities drove us different places.

“My opportunities drove me to law enforcement. First a sheriff’s office, then a police officer in a big city, finally landing as an FBI agent. It was a pretty good gig until I got an injury in the field. Guess “female fbi agent made into swiss cheese in standoff” wasn’t a good look.”

Mr. Pale paused and gave a warning look, plucking and taking a drag of the cigarette. 

Monty held up his hands, “Alright, alright, you’re right. I’ll keep to just me and not speculate on others’ motives.”

Mr. Pale found himself smirking, “I’d appreciate it. While I love a good narrative, we must keep to protocol.”

“Maybe we’ll gossip and speculate over drinks after we’re done, huh?” Monty offered.

Mr. Pale smiled genuinely, “Maybe.”

Monty wagged a finger, “Careful, Mr. Pale. It looks like we may be friends after this.”

Mr. Pale gave a shrug, “Nothing is certain, Monty.” The name now sounding more natural.

Monty wiggled in the seat again to find a good position. A lost battle, unfortunately.

“Okay, so I was in pretty bad shape. Physically not okay. But my lady showed up while I was recovering and literally claimed her undying love for me!”

Monty grunted at Mr. Pale’s raised eyebrow, “Her words! Not mine! ‘My love for you never faltered and should you have died, Beatriz, I would have died with you!’” Monty had stood with the recitation, giving a flourish. 

“It was so romantic that I was rendered speechless. Took a full five minutes before I managed to squeak out, ‘Cool. Let’s get married.’” Monty was laughing again, leaning back in the chair. 

“That woman, my Reina, could take all my composure and suavity in just a look. I was a bumbling fool and worked my hardest to get back on my feet, missing a few organs or not! I wanted to do everything in my power to get back to work so I could provide for my magical bride. So I could always be worthy to look upon her face and earn all her smiles.”

Mr. Pale stamped out his cigarette and got another behind his ear. He looked to be in a much better mood than when he had first laid eyes on Mr. Pedro Montoya.

Monty closed his eyes and took a breath, “I eventually was put back on duty, though in another department. Because of my voice, I was set in a unit devised to take down child predators. It was hard to read and report on the sickening habits of fellow humans. It took a lot out of me to pretend over a microphone to really be a child or teenager that wanted that putrid attention.

“It was only two years that I could last before problems really started to show at home. My lady encouraged me to resign and go to therapy. She went with sometimes. The doc was a bastard at first, making me admit to the feelings I tried to hide to protect Reina from, to protect myself from...It was hard.”

Monty rubbed his face and slicked back his hair, “But because of it I could admit to myself that I was scared for a long time. It let me go through with becoming Pedro fully, not just in the bedroom or at clubs. I could breathe easier with the monsters no longer hidden in my dreams or under my bed.

“I named myself for my father. My family supported me and accepted Reina when we visited. It was there that the funny story of my failed acting career reached my darling wife. With chanting and pressure I acted out the whole audition scene for my family.

“Of course I still remembered it, you don’t religiously do something hundreds of times and forget.”

Monty put a hand over his eyes and smiled, “Reina claimed to be star-stuck and started on a mission to get me into acting. Unfortunately for us, I still had horrific stagefright. But despite my continually diminishing confidence, an opportunity arose.

“Someone in somewhere had heard my rehearsing in the next room, specifically my making fun of a script. They insisted that I try voice acting. And lo and behold! Roland Pierce was born.

“I went for several years with pretty consistent gigs, usually playing a lady or a child, but I didn’t mind. Acting was acting and I had made it!

Monty was sitting upright again, thinking of where to go with his story. Mr. Pale took the opportunity to light up again. “Favorite part?” He offered.

“That would be a villainess role. Claw Rissa, from the teen cartoon Sweet Purrfection. Rissa had a large fan following, I was surprised that most villains do.”

“Reina and I liked to answer fanmail and respond. Only very seldom did we get anything awful. Only had to hand a letter to my old colleagues at the FBI once…” Monty thought, “Maybe twice.”

“I never truly felt threatened, all the mail was taken in by several proxies and we weren’t millionaires, so everything was pretty nice. A little lonely when Rei was away on a set, but otherwise very peaceful.”

Monty’s brow furrowed, “She’s away now. I have a surprise waiting for her on the kitchen table. Found a place that does adoptions. Wanted to run it by her before setting an appointment. Would be a good reason to redecorate the reading room.”

Mr. Pale let out a long drag, eyes scanning Monty. He wondered if the human before him realized what had happened yet. He motioned for him to continue.

“I had just done the dishes and was getting set to retire for the night, maybe watch one of her movies while I waited for her goodnight call. The house felt spooky somehow. I’ve never felt like that unless something was amiss.”

Monty closed his eyes and thought, “I remember feeling watched, then there was a crash. Near jumped out of my skin. I grabbed the baseball bat from the bedside and went to the front door. That’s where I had heard it.

“There was a frame on the floor, I accidentally got some glass in my foot and was cursing. The picture was her and me in college. A picture we kept in the office down the ha- the hall… Then there was pain and…”

Monty’s nose was pink and his eyes were starting to puff. He took a breath and covered his face, letting out a sob. Mr. Pale gave him time, offering a tissue. Monty instead used the collar of his shirt to wipe his eyes. 

“It’s all gone, huh?” He asked, his voice a little choked.

Mr. Pale shook his head, letting out a drag with a sigh, “No. It’s still all there, Monty. Only you left.”

“Why?”

Mr. Pale shook his head slightly and shrugged, “I don’t have the answers to those questions.” He pinched out his cigarette with his fingers and placed it back behind his ear. “All I can do is ask if you’re satisfied with everything you told me.”

Monty fixed his collar and thought. They sat in silence for a while, Mr. Pale folding his hands on the desk in front of him, tilting his head slightly as he watched the human.

Finally, there was movement. Monty stood and nodded, “I had a pretty happy life, all things considered. I’m satisfied with it. Thank you, Mr. Pale.” He held out a hand to the typist for a shake.

Mr. Pale stood, looking into the light that shone behind Monty’s eyes. He smiled and nodded, shaking his hand.

In the next second, Mr. Pale is alone in his office again. He looked down and grinned, nodding to himself. Stacking all the papers with fresh, golden and glowing ink, he placed the pages neatly in a box. 

“It was a pleasure, Monty, my friend.”

The scribe packed the box on a stack of other boxes next to a door labeled “Out” and took a box from a door labeled “In”.

He thought for a few moments, chewing on his bottom lip and shook his head. He opened the box and watched the next yellow energy flow from it and into the slightly uncomfortable leather chair.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story written for "Institute Green" by B. Inkwell on June 19th, 2019.
> 
> It took a long time for me to get these ideas down and breathe these characters to life. 
> 
> Death is something I had to deal with at a young age. I've often thought about the afterlife, or rather what eternal rest would really be like. Who would look after us? Was there anything but blackness after the last breath? I'd like for my resting place to be like Monty's. His most prominent memories and biggest loves cradling his essence forever more.
> 
> I hope to write and post more soon!


End file.
